Grown Accustomed to Your Face
by Jadeaffection
Summary: Derek was no Eliza Doolittle. Stiles feels it's important to mention that. Derek, however, is a hot mess. Stiles is intent on doing something about that. *Sterek Pre-slash, Mrs. McCall/Sheriff Stilinski mentioned, Isaac, Scott & Lydia mentioned. Mild language & a handful of F-words. My Fair Lady & other pop culture references. Mentions of violence, kidnapping & minor injuries.*


**Title:** Grown Accustomed to Your Face

**Fandom:** Teen Wolf

**Characters/Pairing:** Pre-Derek/Stiles, Mrs. McCall/Sheriff Stilinski, Mentioned characters: Isaac, Scott and Lydia.

**Rating:** Teen

**Warnings:** Handful of F-words and some other mild language, bit of fluff, copious pop-culture references and mentions of violence, kidnapping, self-esteem issues and responsible prescription drug use.

**Spoilers:** Up to the end of 3a... but only for the Sheriff reveal.

**Summary:** Derek was no Eliza Doolittle. Stiles feels it's important to mention that. Derek, however, _is_ a hot mess. Stiles is intent on doing something about that.

**A/N:** I had a dream about a conversation. I woke up. This fic happened.

My Fair Lady, Davy Jones, Doctor Doolittle, The Monkees, Twilight, The Avengers and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles references. (If you spot the Firefly/Serenity reference you can have a cookie!)

I consider this a "Pick-your-own-pack" story. Apart from those mentioned you can decide who's included, who's alive and who's gone away. Up to you.

My first Teen Wolf fanfic ever... I'm very excited.

* * *

It was expected so, when it came, he didn't even blink. Roll his eyes? Yes. Blink? No.

'Go home Stiles.'

'Yeah, because telling me what to do has worked so well up until now? Points for being consistent Dude.'

Stiles shuffled across the loft towards the table and away from where Derek had just entered through the door. His sprained ankle was hurting like a bitch. Stiles _hated_ his crutches. His crutches could go step on a Lego.

'Well, maybe if you listened every once in a while you wouldn't get hurt'

Derek had mumbled it and Stiles was fairly certain he wasn't supposed to have heard it. So he pretended he hadn't.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Stiles took a seat in front of one of the burger and fries combos.

He gestured at the other when it became apparent Derek was going to try the old "Lean against the wall and glare intensely until the annoying kid leaves" trick.

'I'm not going anywhere so stop it. Sit, eat!'

Nobody will ever understand the level of restraint it took not to add "stay" and/or "roll over" to the end of that. Derek twitches like he heard it anyway before crossing his arms and pointedly not coming over.

'I took Scott home before I came back and the others have gone to Lydia's. We're gonna meet up in the morning. There's nothing more to do tonight so you might as well just head home… you're father's probably waiting for you.'

Stiles gave him the squinty eyes of judgment as he swallowed down his mouthful of curly fries.

Which he promptly choked on, causing Derek to shoot him his own version of the look. It was less squinting, more rolling and eyebrows, but the level of judgment was the same if not more so. Okay, _d__efinitely_ more so.

Scowling, Stiles took a few gulps of soda to clear his throat before holding up a finger at Derek.

'Firstly, emotional manipulation? That is so below you. We both know Dad was at the McCall's'. It's date night. Which basically involves Scott's mom cooking and them falling asleep on the couch. Scott's been traumatized by unconscious cuddling. So guilt's not going to work.'

When Derek opened his mouth to answer back, Stiles shushed him before holding up a second finger.

'And, secondly, you really expect me to buy that you're not going to go straight back out as soon as you change into a shirt that's less blood encrusted and holey? Because I don't. Wouldn't even if you threw in free steak knives.'

Derek sighed, over-dramatic in a way only he could pull off. What with the tragic telenovela that was his life.

But before he could start with the obvious denials, Stiles cut him off. He was not in the mood.

'Oh my God! Don't even dude! Save the spiel for someone who's not intimately familiar with your martyr complex. Sit the hell down!'

To Stiles' complete and utter surprise Derek actually listened. He stepped away from the wall, walked over and took the seat across from Stiles.

His victory was short lived however when he realized Derek was planning on using the close quarters to try a different tactic.

He could tell by the way the werewolf was pensively rearranging his fries.

'I'm fine Stiles, really.'

Oh, so that's how it's going to be. Bring it!

'Why don't you go on home, I promise I won't go straight back out. You should be resting, taking the weight off your ankle. I got this.'

The shocked look on Derek's face as Stiles' pickle hit him right between the eyes was priceless. If it was the last thing Stiles saw before he died, which, given Derek's "anger is my copilot" life motto, was a real possibility, it would be worth it.

'No!'

'Stiles...'

The second evil soaked cucumber missed it's mark by an inch, landing in a bushy eyebrow. For one hilarious, cheek biting moment it hung, suspended, before falling to the table.

'I _said_ no!'

Finally Derek's nostril flaring seemed to indicate he was beginning to take Stiles seriously. About freaking time!

Not that Stiles particularly enjoyed seeing a frown spread across Derek's face but he wasn't backing down. Not this time. Not about this.

'Isaac's my responsibility and...'

'I'm gonna have to stop you there big guy because, and correct me if I'm wrong, last time I checked you weren't the one who flung me across the room, fucking up my ankle, or the one who locked Lydia in a closet. So, ergo, you weren't the one who kidnapped Isaac. This is _not_ your fault and if you think killing yourself over this is going to...'

'You're wasting my time Stiles! I need to get back out there.'

Derek pushed himself away from the table and moved, presumably, in the direction of a clean shirt.

Before Stiles knew what he was doing, he was up out of his seat and slamming Derek up against the nearest wall. Derek must have been just as stunned as Stiles about the turn of events because he let him.

When their eyes met Derek's were wide with surprise until they narrowed. Now he wasn't just serious, he was angry. Good!

'What the fuck do you want Stiles?'

'What do _I_ want? Well, let's see... I want my dad safe. I want my friends safe. I want my ankle to stop throbbing. I want more salt on my fries. I want Black Widow to get her own movie. I want a Ninja Turtle onesie, preferably Donatello. I want them to sell Girl Scout cookies all year round. I want a pony and a plastic rocket. I want to not feel all useless and impotent because I was stupid and weak enough to let myself be put out of commission. I want to feel like I'm DOING SOMETHING TO HELP GET ISAAC BACK AND I WANT YOU TO STOP BEING SUCH A SELF-SACRIFICING ASSHOLE!'

It's totally possible Stiles lost it somewhere around the onesie point and that by the end he was shouting right in Derek's face.

And then he was leaning _his_ face on Derek's shoulder because...

'Ow, fucking ow! Shit! Moved too fast! Fuckity fuck fuck! Oh my God! Mother of ass!'

He was definitely crying on Derek's shirt, but if Derek wasn't going to bring it up then damned if Stiles was going to mention it.

Nor was he going to be waxing lyrical about Derek basically picking him off the ground and carrying him back to his chair. And if the universe never brought up the truly embarrassing noise he made when Derek knelt in front of him, gently held his foot and did the werewolf pain removing black vein thing, that was okay by Stiles.

When most of the pain was gone and Derek looked up to see Stiles biting his lip to keep from whimpering in relief, any remaining anger disappeared from the moment.

'You're an idiot!'

Stiles scoffed at that as he watched Derek go back to his own seat.

'Takes one to know one.'

Derek raised an eyebrow at him and then kept it raised. Which was Derek speak for "Explain your ridiculousness so I can explain why you're wrong!".

Stiles sighed.

'I _know_ how desperate you are to get Isaac back. I do. Because I know you. Which is how I know you haven't eaten in ages and are completely exhausted. And so help me god, even if it kills me, you are going to eat that lukewarm burger, have a shower and then sleep for at least five hours before I let you back out.'

And now Derek had both eyebrows raised in incredulity. High on his forehead in a classic "You and what army, puny human?" gesture.

'I mean it. You can't keep doing this to yourself. You'll get sloppy with exhaustion and you _will_ die. These aren't guys to mess around with. I should know. Why do you think they took Isaac? They're trying to get to you and I refuse to let that happen. I might not be able to protect you in a fight, especially forcibly benched like this, but I can make damn sure you're not screwed before you start. So let me. Trust me just this once?'

Stiles may have been pushing buttons there just a bit. He knew Derek trusted him. At least a little and much more than most. But this was important.

'Fine!'

'I'm just trying to help and... wait, fine? As in "you're going to listen to me" fine?'

And he knew that he had actually gotten through to Derek since the eyebrows of silent communication were lowered.

Well, that and Derek was pinching the bridge of his nose and looking like he was regretting all of his life choices, especially the ones involving nosy, bossy teenagers.

'I said fine Stiles.'

As if that was all that needed to be said, Derek picked up his burger and began to eat. Shrugging and taking the victory for what it was, Stiles joined him. They finished their meals in a silence that was only broken by Stiles mewling pathetically until Derek opened his child-proofed pain pills for him.

It was after Derek had been in the bathroom for five minutes, the sound of the running shower echoing through the loft, that Stiles started to doubt the ease of his success.

Not that he was expecting Derek to escape out of the bathroom window or anything but...actually...

'DEREK?'

'WHAT?'

'NOTHING... JUST REMEMBER TO BRUSH YOUR TEETH.'

Stiles didn't need to hear Derek's response to that to feel the exasperation directed at him in his soul. It was comforting.

Anyway, not anticipating a jailbreak, Stiles still felt that he had got away with everything a bit too easy. And the uncomfortable pit in his stomach only continued to grow as he waited for Derek to return.

When Derek did finally emerge, in a cloud of steam, wearing sweatpants and possibly the softest looking t-shirt Stiles had ever seen, it became obvious the discomfort was not misplaced.

'Well, I'll just try and get some sleep now I guess. You're job here is done.'

Sneaky and subtle he was not. Stiles could see Derek mentally calculating to fastest way to get back in his jeans and out of there the moment Stiles was gone.

Oh, the precious naive little werewolf. Bless his cotton socks.

'I'm not going anywhere dude.'

'_Stiles_, you are not watching me sleep! Despite the constant teenage supernatural shenanigans, our lives are not actually a young adult novel!'

'Twilight? Really? You're team Jacob aren't you? Also you should always say "shenanigans". It sounds glorious coming out of your mouth. You should definitely say it around Scott. I want to see his brain break. Anyhow, if I had even the _slightest_ faith you would really sleep if I left you here alone I wouldn't have to pull a Cullen but as it stands... Let's get comfy shall we? Would you like some warm milk? Want me to tuck you in? Bedtime story?'

Derek had a tick in his jaw that always seemed to act up when he was fighting his natural urge to throttle Stiles into silence. It was currently beating out a samba.

'Are we really doing this?'

'Define "this"?'

And, despite popular opinion, Stiles didn't actually have a death wish so instead of waiting for Derek to answer that he decided to take the pointed look for the out it was. Best not to tap dance on the thin ice.

'Okay, yes, we are doing this. You are going to go to bed and sleep. I am going to not stare at you creepily but instead use my time efficiently to research and... fine, stop with the eyebrows, I'm going to ass around on the internet because there is nothing more to research on these bastards without a new lead. And if you try to get up from that bed, I will hit you with The Spoon.'

'The spoon?'

Stiles brandished the wooden spoon he had taken from the kitchen drawer before he left home.

'Do not underestimate The Spoon! Just the phrase "Don't make me get The Spoon!" was enough to make me behave for years. And not once was I even hit with it. It was the way that Mom and Dad talked about it, you know. Like it had magical properties. So, I figure... a little bit of magic should be enough to cow a werewolf.'

Stiles would never know if it was the image of little!Stiles in trouble, the idea that a wooden spoon would be enough to stop Derek from leaving if he really wanted to or Stiles' rare mention of his mother but something in that speech had made Derek smile.

Soft, fond and nothing like his usual smirk, Stiles wouldn't mind seeing Derek's face transformed with it more often.

'How long do I need to sleep to satisfy your insane need to help?'

'Five hours at least. I want you to not collapse of fatigue when the bad guys are trying to dismember you. Maybe you could even win a fight for a change?'

That earned him a growl but the smile remained so Stiles counted it as a win.

Especially as, after Derek had helped him to the couch, he then went to sit on his bed, heaving a resigned sigh.

'Against _every_ instinct I have, which are all demanding I get back out there and find Isaac, I'm going to go with you on this. Mainly to shut you up but also because a part of me, and you better remember this because it might be the only time I'll say it, vaguely suspects you might be right.'

Stiles was taking a rain-check on the happy dance until his ankle was more up to it. And Isaac was safe. And nobody was trying to kill them. He might be waiting awhile.

'Your confidence in me in overwhelming. I'm touched, really! Now sleep big guy, you can shower me with more praise when you wake up.'

Stiles went to dig his laptop out of his bag. But he really should have known there was a reason the dread in his stomach hadn't eased. Derek wasn't finished.

'Answer me one question first Stiles.'

Oh crap!

'Why? Why do you care so much about keeping me alive?'

And there it was.

He'd really hoped Derek wouldn't ask that question. Because, hell if he knew the answer.

But, when he looked over to the bed, the solution was right there.

It was there in the open and lost look on Derek's face, honest in a way he wasn't with anyone else. It was there in the way their eyes locked and held.

And Stiles suddenly knew _exactly_ what he wanted to say. Now all he had to do was say it in a way Derek would understand.

'Do you want the whole truth? Or the single truth you'll believe?'

To Derek's credit, he took a moment to consider. Maybe too intently if the way he was staring at Stiles' face like it held the secrets of the universe was anything to go by.

Eventually he seemed to come to a decision, face hardening in resolve. Obviously expecting something horrible. Not an unprecedented response given his life but sad nonetheless.

'Let's start with the one you think I'll believe but then I want the whole truth.'

The "or else" went unsaid but clearly heard.

Now it was time for Stiles to harden his own resolve and suck it up.

'We _need_ you dude. You realize that, right? You die and as a pack we are totally screwed. Do you know how many times you've saved my life alone? Not to mention everyone else. Scott would be dead without you to swoop in and save his ass. All of our life expectancies go up when you're around. Mainly because you're always so willing to sacrifice yourself in our places. You keep us safe...ish and that's awesome.'

Stiles could see Derek's expression tighten and then relax in acceptance. Which sucked.

He would have preferred to not focus on Derek's usefulness first. But the idiot was so used to only having his value measured by what he could contribute. By what purpose he could serve in furthering others agendas. It would always be the easiest reason for Derek to swallow.

It made Stiles want to punch someone. Multiple someones.

But it was true and to lie about it would be unfair.

'Can you just stop. Like right now. You wanted the one you'd believe first, I didn't say it was the main reason or the most important.'

Derek frowned at him.

'What's more important than keeping your friends and you alive?'

Stiles was never going to stop facepalming. _Ever_.

'Oh my god!'

'Stiles?'

Okay, so maybe he would stop if only so he could side-eye the heck out of Derek.

'You really don't get it do you?'

And the look Derek gave Stiles made it very clear he didn't.

'_Derek_! Jesus, I don't know whether to laugh or cry! You want the whole truth? You _are _my friend dude! I know I haven't come out and said it before but I mean it so quit it with that look.'

And Stiles wasn't quite sure what look he was referring to. The disbelieving wry one written all over Derek's face. Or the one he was rocking on the bed. All fluffy hair, soft shirt and crossed legs, appearing touchable and human in a way Derek rarely allowed himself to.

Both made Stiles feel uncomfortable in _very_ different ways.

But best to address Derek's appalling lack of self-worth first. Other matters, especially those involving touching, would keep.

'I would totally give a shit if you died. I give a shit about you in general. You're not that bad once you get past the rage and Trojan-like defenses. Spending time with you isn't exactly a hardship... You keep up with me, which I appreciate, and you're able to give as good as you get. You make all this crap we have to deal with half bearable. You care. About everything. And everyone. Way more than you let on. You're actually kinda hilarious. Dry, witty and smarter than I think you get credit for. Of course your plans still suck and I'm always right but that's a given.'

Derek was smiling again and, if Stiles was one to over-analyze things, it could be considered indulgently fond.

'Because all your plans are shining examples of strategy, organization and logic?'

'Damn straight! My plans are flawless!'

Someone should really record the sound of Derek snort-laughing. It could probably help facilitate world peace and cure cancer or something.

'Anyway, Derek, my point _is_ that not having you around would suck. I've gotten used to your gloomy self always being there. In the immortal words of Henry Higgins, I have grown accustomed to your face.'

'Did you just say 'Enry 'Iggins? Also the line's "her face".''

'Semantics! And if you don't say it with a Cockney accent you might as well not say it at all. '

'"My Fair Lady", Stiles? Really?'

And Stiles was going to blame the late night, the pain meds and Derek's bare feet for the dramatic over-share that followed.

'One of Mom's favorites. She had a huge crush on Rex Harrison. We'd watch it all the time. Same with "Doctor Dolittle". Christmas when I was five, I refused to come out of my room all day because I was so pissed that Santa hadn't brought me the Pushmi-pullyu that I'd asked for. I still watch them sometimes, on her birthday and stuff. Anyway, you understood the reference!'

Stiles had very pointedly told that entire story to his own shoes. They seemed rather uninterested.

'My Mom loved Davy Jones. I was singing "Girl" before I'd even mastered the "Alphabet Song". And I've seen every episode of "The Monkees" at least five times.'

Stiles had to look up at Derek then, it was impossible not to. The moment and the stories hung in the air between them. It felt easy and right in a way nothing had for a long time.

But...

'Great, right, okay, so have I answered your question well enough? Because you need sleep so you can wake up tomorrow well rested, go out and kick bad guy butt and bring Isaac home.'

'Yeah. It'll do.'

With one final smile, small, private and knowing, Derek pulled the covers down and arranged himself under them with his back facing Stiles.

'Still need me to tuck you in?'

'_Stiles_!'

'Night dude.'

'Goodnight.'

And that was that.

Finally Derek's breathing evened out before eventually deepening to what could maybe generously be called a snore on a _very_ quiet night.

Stiles had been expecting chainsaws. Go figure.

Getting lost in the recesses of internet, it took Stiles longer than it should have to realize that his self-imposed five hour minimum had been reached.

And he really would go home but he was so tired. It was quarter to five in the morning, it had been a long day and his ankle was aching. Besides, his Dad knew where he was and was all right with it so there was no rush.

It wouldn't hurt to just close his eyes for a few minutes. To just put his laptop in his bag, adjust his position so he was lying down and take a little nap. A tiny one. He'd be awake and gone in no time. It'd be fine.

When Stiles awoke the afternoon sun was streaming through the windows, highlighted by it filtering through the two yellow post-it notes stuck on his forehead, and the becoming-too-warm quilt thrown over him smelt like Derek's deodorant.

Sitting up and peeling the paper off his skin, Stiles couldn't help but feel equal measures sheepish and deeply pleased.

The warm feeling in his gut only increased as he read the first note Derek had left him. Derek's hand writing was beautiful.

_**Scott sent a msg, said he'd found a scent trail. He went ahead alone. Gone to rescue him and hopefully Isaac too. No food or coffee in loft. Go home! I'll call later. Promise. -D**_

The second note was even better.

_**P.S. Thanks for making the night time nicer. **_

You couldn't pay him enough to wipe the grin off his face. Even the concern for his friends couldn't do it.

Gathering his things before grabbing the crutches that Derek had thoughtfully placed in reach of the couch, Stiles couldn't stop himself from humming a happy little tune as he made his way out of the loft. He'd already located Derek and Scott's cells and he'd be there in fifteen minutes.

And if that happy little tune happened to be "I Could Have Danced All Night", well, he doubted the pigeons roosting on his jeep were going to be telling anybody.


End file.
